“It might have slipped out. But what do you want me to do? Wendell is a good man. He deserves to know.”
“What do you mean he’s a good man?” Miss May asked. “You’re sitting here telling us you think he’s probably the killer.”
Teeny scratched her chin. “That’s a good point. Maybe I was wrong about Wendell.”
Miss May bit her lip. “I guess Wendell is a viable suspect. But this was a pretty brutal murder. And he doesn’t strike me as a knife in the back kind of guy.”
Teeny nodded. “True. Wendell seems more like a poisoner than a stabber.”
I perked up. “What about Beverly Brewster? I mean... She had the motive. Granny Smith was calling Bev a traitor in front of everyone. In fact, Granny Smith was saying bad stuff about the whole Brewster family.”
“Is somebody talking about me?” Teeny’s mother, the eponymous “Grandma,” called out from her perch behind the cash register. Granny was hard-of-hearing, but she wasn’t deaf.
“Different Granny, Mom!” Teeny yelled back. Granny nodded and went back to her crossword.
Miss May steered us back to the matter at hand. “Bev is a decent suspect. And I’m sure all the Brewsters have access to Revolutionary War-era weapons. I remember when Beverly renovated her house a few years back, they found a whole trunk of old war stuff in the attic.”
“Plus,” I said. “That Brewster clan has a lot of spunk.”
Teeny nodded. “That’s for sure. Beverly Brewster is a stabber if I ever met one. And spunk can turn rotten under the right circumstances.”
I turned to Miss May. “So you want to question Beverly Brewster first?”
Miss May nodded. “I think that could be a good idea.”
“Hey,” Teeny said. “We went through this whole conversation without me bringing up North Port Diaries one time. Isn’t that great? Because I had a lot of theories about Chinese superspies I kept to myself.”
Miss May chuckled. “That’s great, Teeny. Thank you for not slowing us down with any Chinese superspy plots.”
“The last few episodes I’ve watched have focused on romantic stories, anyway,” Teeny said. “That’s probably why. Oh! That reminds me. How did you leave it with Wayne, Chelsea? If he finds the killer first are you going to date him?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. I didn’t give him an answer.”
Miss May grinned. “Besides... She’s got a date with Germany Turtle first, anyway.”
I jumped out of my chair. “Jiminy Cricket! Germany Turtle!”
Teeny and Miss May exchange a confused look. “What?” Miss May asked.
I groaned. “It’s Sunday! I’m supposed to be on a date with him right now!”
9
Jerk to Germany
Growing up, I got an award for perfect attendance every year.
In college, I helped three separate friends move into their dorms. (Not the reference librarians. Other friends.)
During my stint as an interior designer in New York City, I never once missed a meeting or appointment.
But somehow I managed to forget about my first date with Germany Turtle.
Germany liked me, but he didn’t know me. So he had no idea how out of character it was for me to miss a meeting.
I rushed home from Grandma’s to see if I could catch Germany at the orchard.
When I pulled up in Miss May’s VW bus, Germany was sitting on the steps to the porch, plucking petals from a bouquet of sunflowers. It was signature Germany to show up with flowers, but that bunch was extra big. So I felt extra bad.
Germany stood as I jumped out of the van and jogged toward him.
“Germany,” I said. “I am so sorry. How long have you been waiting there?”
“Oh no matter,” Germany said. “I’m thrilled to see you’re alive. You don’t strike me as a tardy person, so as time passed I grew concerned. It occurred to me that I could call your cell phone every minute on the minute until we connected but I didn’t want to give off the appearance of being so-called clingy when our courtship is in its nascent stage.”
I sighed. “You could have called me, Germany. I mean... You’ve been here for over an hour, right?”
Germany scrunched up his face and looked at the sky. It was kind of cute. “Let’s see... Our rendezvous was scheduled for 6 PM sharp. I arrived at 5:45 and parked around the corner where I gave myself a vigorous pep talk, complimenting my stature as a man and my viability as a potential partner. Around 5:55 PM I needed to throw up but refrained. And I arrived here at 5:58 PM, for I believe it is right to always arrive at least two minutes early for an important appointment. Considering that most my life consists of training puppy firefighters at the local firehouse, I qualified this evening with you as important. Not to take anything away from the puppies. They’re heroes.”
I smiled. “Have you ever heard of too much information, Germany? TMI?”
Germany shook his head. “I believe that there is no such thing as too much information. Information is the fruit of curiosity, which brings life to the universe.”
“But maybe a little mystery is good for the universe too,” I said.
“Of course,” said Germany. “Some mysteries must remain mysterious. Others, as you well know, need to be solved.”
“You mean like the case of ‘why did Chelsea show up an hour late for her date with Germany’?”
“Oh no. I wasn’t suggesting...”
I held up my hands. “Either way, I owe you an explanation. The truth is...”
Germany hung his head. “I knew it. You’ve taken up permanent residence in the beef-tacular arms of Detective Wayne Hudson. Would it change your mind if I told you that my diet now consists of only raw eggs and barely cooked meat? My protein intake has more than quadrupled since I met you. I expect my physique will follow suit any day now.”
I laughed. “That’s... questionable nutritionally. And you need to just let me tell you why I was late. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Speaking of jumping, I’m working on my vertical leap as well. It’s up to 19 inches. I had resolved to fib and suggest it was 20, but alas I cannot tell a lie.”
“Germany! That’s very impressive. But please let me explain!”
“I’m sorry. Go ahead.”
“OK.” I took a deep breath. “Miss May and I found another dead body today. That’s why I was late.”
Germany looked up. “That’s wonderful.”
“Is it?”
“No. Not that somebody died. That’s tragic and horrifying. Let me state, for the record, I am sorry for the deceased, their loved ones, and their pets. However, it pleases me that my assumption about you and Detective Beef Bottom has proven to be erroneous. So you haven’t decided against a date with a humble Turtle? You just got swept up in a murder investigation. Lost in the magnified image of a cadaver, sprawled out on a gymnasium floor, bleeding from the ears.”
“What? No. The victim wasn’t in a gymnasium. Or bleeding from the ears.”
“Right. My imagination is faster than I’ll ever be on foot. You are OK, though? You did not ‘stand me up’ as they say?”
“Of course not.”
Germany looked away. “Well. In that case I owe you an apology.”
I narrowed my eyes. “OK...”
“The truth is, I arrived at your home this evening with two large bouquets of florals. You may have noticed only one remains. That is because after thirty minutes of waiting, I ventured down to see your tiny horse See-Saw and fed her your flowers. I don’t want to say spite drove my behavior, but it did. That said, I Googled the flowers before feeding them to See-Saw to make sure they were safe for tiny horse consumption. FYI, many flowers are poisonous to equines of all sizes. Sunflowers, however, are okay in moderation.”
I laughed. Germany Turtle was the oddest man I’d ever met. But he was so earnest. I’ll admit... I liked it. “It’s OK, Germany. I forgive you for feeding sunflowers to my horse. Will you forgive me for my tardiness?”
&n
bsp; “Of course. It caused me ample stress, but I will recover.”
“Where were you going to take me tonight, anyway?”
“I have procured reservations at an exclusive Manhattan eatery with a French name that loosely translates to The Little Broken Stick. I made the reservation the moment I met you.”
“How did you know we would have a date set for tonight?”
“I made a reservation for every Sunday night for this year and next. We have missed tonight’s deadline, I fear. But there is always next week, as they say.”
“We can also just hang here tonight,” I said. “Walk through the apple trees? I’ve heard it’s a nice date.”
Germany shook his head. “A walk through the apple trees sounds quaint. But it will not suffice. I know that to win your heart I must impress you, not only once, but repeatedly for the duration of my life. I intend to do so. Beginning with a meal at a French restaurant in Manhattan with a name that loosely translates to The Little Broken Stick.”
I laughed. “OK. Same time next week then? Pick me up here?”
“I shall see you then.” Germany gave me his signature little bow, then walked away. After a few steps, he turned back.
“Another murder victim in Pine Grove. Shocking.”
I nodded.
“If only my parents, the late Linda and Reginald Turtle, had known. Somehow they had chosen for their modest retirement a small town plagued by murder. But at least the town is also blessed with two quite gifted sleuths.”
Germany repeated his bow, a little deeper that time.
“Until we meet again.”
10
Brewster Blues
Everyone in town knew that Beverly Brewster had visited Peter’s Land and Sea for breakfast every morning since the new restaurant’s recent opening. So the next day, Miss May, Teeny, and I squeezed into the front seat of my light blue pickup and drove over to Peter’s. I had a spent many childhood hours squished up in the middle seat of my parents’ old red truck. Those rides had thrilled me as a kid. Although it was a tight fit, I still enjoyed riding around like that as an adult.
On that day, the foliage was beautiful. Bright oranges and yellows exploded from the trees. The sky was a crisp, baby blue. Even the double yellow line in the road seemed brighter and more vibrant than it had ever been.
We entered Peter’s Land and Sea to find the place nearly empty, with just a few tables occupied. Still, when I scanned the room, I could not spot Beverly Brewster.
I turned to Miss May. “I don’t think she’s here. Should we go?”
“One second.” Miss May crossed over to Petey, who hovered near the kitchen service window. Teeny and I followed.
As we crossed the restaurant, I admired the simple, elegant vibe Petey had created. Before his grand opening, I had helped Petey narrow down design ideas to inform his decor. But Petey had done the actual decorating himself. And the place had the feel of a refined, country kitchen. Big, wooden tables. Steel accents. Nice pops of blues and reds. He had done a classy job.
I thought back to when he had worked at Grandma’s and Teeny’d had him scraping gum off the bottoms of tables and smiled. He’d come a long way, baby.
Miss May greeted Petey with a hug, as did Teeny. I stood behind them and gave a little half wave, being my awkward self.
“Petey. This place looks incredible,” Miss May said. “But where’s Beverly? I thought she came every day for breakfast.”
Petey shrugged. “And sometimes lunch. But she hasn’t shown up in a couple days. I miss her big, loud laugh.”
Miss May furrowed her brow. “How many days has it been since Bev came in?”
“I don’t know,” said Petey. “I think she was hear Saturday morning. But hasn’t been back since uh, what happened with Granny Smith dying. I think they were friends or something.”
Teeny gasped. My face whitened.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Petey said. “Did you guys not know Granny Smith died?”
“No. We knew,” Miss May said. “We’re just...”
Teeny stepped forward. “We’re still in shock.”
Petey looked from me, to Miss May, back to Teeny. “Hold up. You three don’t think Beverly Brewster killed Granny Smith, do you?”
I laughed. Too loud. Then I talked. Always a mistake. “Of course not! We’re just looking for Bev because we want her to join our volleyball team. Yeah, that’s right. Volleyball. Teeny pops them up and Miss May spikes them down.”
Petey grinned. “Sweet! I love volleyball. Do you guys need a setter? I am a ballin’ setter.”
Miss May side-eyed me. “We’re all good. Thanks, Petey. Okay. We’ll be on our way then.”
“Slow down, Miss May! You’re here. You might as well join us for breakfast. If there’s one thing Teeny taught me, it’s that Miss May always gets special treatment.”
“That’s true,” Teeny said. “I did teach him that. In fact, I printed it up and hung it in the back room.”
“Really?” Miss May asked.
Teeny nodded. “What’s the point in having a restaurant if you can’t make the people you love feel special?”
Petey nodded. “I agree.”
Miss May blushed. “That is so nice. OK. Let’s eat.”
——
A few minutes later, Petey seated us at a nice wooden table. He handed us each a menu, but we handed them right back.
“We already know what we want, Petey,” Teeny said.
“Let me guess. Three egg and cheese sandwiches. Hot and fresh?”
We laughed.
“Extra cheese on mine,” I said.
“Coming right up!” Petey smiled and headed back to the kitchen.
Moments later, Petey set down three big, fluffy, egg and cheese sandwiches and my eyes widened as though I was witnessing sunrise at the Grand Canyon. New York was famous for pizza and bagels. But New York egg and cheese sandwiches were just as special, and Petey’s was best of all.
The sandwich started with Petey’s fresh-baked Kaiser rolls. All good egg and cheeses are served on a Kaiser. But Petey’s rolls were perfectly golden brown. The size of a small frisbee. And dusted with just the right amount of cornmeal. When you squeezed the rolls, they felt like a delicious little stress ball. Yum.
Next came Petey’s secret recipe eggs. Well, the recipe was a secret to most people. But Teeny told us how Petey did it. He used local, farm fresh eggs and lots of butter. And then he cooked the eggs Gordon Ramsey-style — 30 seconds on high heat, 30 seconds off the heat. Stirring continuously. At the end of about two minutes, he added a touch of cream and salt and pepper. Petey topped the whole thing off with diced bits of Boar’s Head American cheese. The cheese had the perfect amount of bite and gooey-ness, and combined with the buttery eggs, it was an incredible melt-in-your-mouth sensation.
After taking my first bite of sandwich I must have blacked out with bliss. Because the next thing I remembered, Teeny and Miss May were standing and putting on their coats, ready to go.
I stayed planted in my chair. “Hold on. Where are you guys going? We didn’t even discuss the case.”
Miss May laughed. “All we’ve done is discuss the case. You were just too busy chewing and munching and moaning about the eggs to pay any attention.”
“I guess that makes sense.” I stood and pulled my jacket on. “Where are we going now?”
“We’re going to head to Murphy’s, right in town,” Miss May said.
“Murphy’s... the Irish pub?” I asked.
Miss May nodded. “That’s where Beverly works. She may have skipped her normal breakfast, but I doubt she’d skip work. It’s probably first shift at the bar now.”
I nodded. “Should we get one more sandwich for the road?”
“It’s two minutes away,” Miss May said. “We can come back later.”
I plucked a crumb from my plate and shot a longing look back at the kitchen. Then I did my best Terminator voice and delivered a message to all the egg sandwiches I planned to
have in my life.
“I’ll be back.”
11
Fighting Irish
Murphy’s Irish Pub was the only bar in Pine Grove’s business district. The pub was in a strip mall, between a Chinese takeout spot and an out-of-business video store. Although the bar looked unassuming from the outside, with nothing more than a neon “OPEN” sign and a four-leaf clover logo glittering in the window, Murphy’s authentic Irish food and drink attracted crowds from all over the region.
That morning, Miss May, Teeny, and I showed up around 11 AM. But the place was so packed we had to park on the street.
Liz, the only reporter and editor for our local paper, stood out front with a cameraman. Her setup was elaborate, like she was reporting on a big event.
Liz lowered her mic as we approached. “Go take a break, Barry. We’ll come back in five.”
The cameraman, who I assumed was Barry, tucked his rig in the trunk of a beat-up sedan and lit a cigarette a few feet away.
“Barry. Cigarettes are gross.” Liz sighed. “Can you go behind the building?”
Barry trudged around the building without a word, and Liz turned to us. “It is so hard to find a decent camera person in Pine Grove. I’m telling you. How are you three doing?”
“Forget us,” Miss May said. “What’s going on in there?”
A cheer erupted from inside.
“Ireland is playing England in soccer. The game is in the UK. Murphy’s just got a special cable package so people can come watch the games live in the Pine Grove.”
“I love that,” Teeny said. “Irish pride.”
“You’re Irish?” I asked.
“I could be!” Teeny said. “It seems fun.”
“Yeah, sure. It’s fun. But you three want to know a secret?” Liz asked.
Miss May smirked. “I never turn down a secret.”
Liz leaned in. “The Murphys think I’m here to report on the game. But actually I’m doing an undercover investigation on the parking lot.”
I looked around. The parking lot looked normal.
Teeny rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “That sounds like a juicy story. But... What is the story? It’s a parking lot.”
Granny Smith Is Dead Page 5
